


Do I Love You?

by FcrestNymph



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, M/M, take a guess at why he suddenly changed ;)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-07
Updated: 2018-10-07
Packaged: 2019-07-27 11:00:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16217639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FcrestNymph/pseuds/FcrestNymph
Summary: Connor listens as Hank explains what love feels like. The android slowly realizes something...He has never felt that for Hank.





	Do I Love You?

 

 

 

 

Hank lays beside Connor one night, fingers interlaced. “I love you, Con.” He says softly.

 

“I love you too, Hank.”

 

“Shit, I just...” A breath.

 

“I really do, yknow?" Hank says. "Like, people say love is all great and everything, but you really make me feel.”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“Even the small things are perfect. I don’t know, I just...Whenever you make dinner for me, and I feel like I’m drunk. Whenever we kiss and it’s like I’m floating because I can’t believe you’re here with me.”

 

A moment of silence. “What else do you feel?”

 

 

 

 

“Shit, Con. Quizzing me, eh?” Hank laughs and squeezes Connor’s hand twice, a heartbeat. An ‘I love you’ without words.

 

“Warmth whenever you’re around. Butterflies in my gut— _God_  that sounds cliche. You just make me feel safe, like I have a real future with you. Like we’ll just be here forever.”

 

Connor is quiet for a long, long minute. “These are natural, aren’t they?”

 

“Well—Yeah, they’re natural. Cmon, did you think you were malfunctioning or sick?” Hank laughs and Connor smiles, but it doesn’t cause anything in his chest. No warmth.

 

“No, I didn’t.”

 

“Well lucky you. I thought I had a stomach flu up until I realized I was head over heels for you. Nice to know you knew what you felt right away.”

 

Connor hums noncommittally. “Nice to know.” He parrots. Is he supposed to feel that? What Hank is describing? He is a machine. He isn’t really  _meant_  to feel, but he does feel things. He feels fabric against his skin, he feels happiness when he sees a dog running after its owner. But he doesn’t feel what Hank is describing. He decided to research.

 

His LED spins yellow in the dim light of their bedroom. There are forums, few and far between, that androids use to discuss with each other. Socially. He takes a quick peek and searches “love”. He loves Hank, he thinks. Doesn’t he?

 

They lay together, hands clasped together, as Connor educates himself. There are androids who have fallen in love. He reads their stories, their experiences, and he feels...wrong. Like he’s missing a piece to a puzzle.

 

 

 

 

 

He posts a thread. Androids are fast, and he gets a reply within sixty seven seconds.

 

Hank is breathing softly beside him.

 

It’s a file, a code. A feeling. He hesitates for a moment before opening it.

 

 

 

 

He stiffens, LED flashing between yellow and red as he scans, as he feels, as he  _realizes_. He has never felt this before. Not seeing dogs, not kissing Hank, not ever.

 

“Hank.” He breathes out, earning a soft, sleepy “Hmm?” from beside him.

 

Hank was half asleep, but he stretches slightly and tightens his hold on Connor’s hand. “What is it, Con? You alright?” Hank asked through a slow yawn.

 

“Hank, I...” How is he supposed to say this? He realizes now. He doesn’t care. Or—He does, he does care about Hank, but the amount he cares for Hank’s  _reaction_  to the confession is so far below what he had just felt. He had felt  _love_ , pure and simple. Hank’s reaction didn’t hold a candle to what Connor had felt; true caring.

 

“I don’t love you.” He says. It is flat, it is blunt, it is matter of fact. It’s true. “I have never loved you.”

 

Hank takes a breath and sits up with a groan, still partway climbing out of sleep. “What—“

 

“I don’t love you.” Connor repeats.

 

“Connor, what are—“

 

“I never have. I haven’t loved anything. I know I should. I know what love feels like now, and I’ve never felt it with you.”

 

Hank sits up fully and rubs at one of his eyes, blinking furiously. “Stop—Are you asleep? Are you dreaming or something?”

 

“Hank—No. Lieutenant Anderson. I don’t love you. You provide me no warmth, no giddiness, none. I think I enjoy your company to some extent, but...No, I don’t care for you.”

 

Hank just stares. Furrowed brow, wide eyes, an absolutely betrayed expression on his face. No, not betrayed.  _Broken_.

 

“I feel as though you were part of my programming. I went through the motions, but I felt no joy. Similar to the assignments I was given from Cyber...” He trails off, faltering. “I’m sorry, Lieutenant.” He said, voice soft. Not for Hank’s benefit, not as an attempt to be gentle. Just because he was thinking. “I’ll be out of your hair.” He stands up and walks past Hank, who is still staring, dumbfounded and  _hurt_.

 

“Connor, you can’t just—“

 

“Yes I can. I believe this was a forced relationship. I have no reason to spend my time with you, it makes no sense for us to be together. No logical sense, unless it was a task assigned in my programming.. I don’t like being controlled. I’m sorry, Lieutenant.” He isn’t lying. He doesn’t like being controlled. To think that his relationship with Hank—all the time spent together was not out of his free will, but was  _forced_ — He grimaces. He is made to be social, to be well liked, but he...He has no need. His most important relationship was a sham, a child playing house.

 

 

 

 

 

Maybe it’s his programming that’s making him do this—

 

The thought makes him stop in his tracks. This is his own free will, an attempt to be who he wants to be. This isn’t forced. He hesitates, tries to feel for a wall, a push in his programming. The  _real_  love had knocked down the walls he had (even though he could have  _sworn_  he already deviated), and he can’t feel any locks.

 

 

 

 

This wasn’t coerced, was it? He didn’t think his love of Hank was fake, but it was. So this...was it his own choice? It had to be.  _Was it_?

 

He finds it difficult to swallow, and even more difficult to change the angle of his foot. His brow furrows and he turned towards Hank. He feels  _wrong_  doing this, though he can't figure out why it feels so forbidden. He brushes it off, shaking his head lightly to try to get rid of the confining sensation. The previous feeling of properness, of satisfaction began to change, clouding his head with desires to turn and run, to _leave_ , to not falter in his decision to abandon Hank.

 

 

 

 

 

He walks over to Hank, slower than he really meant to, and reaches out. Hank just stares at him, beard wet with tears—Connor can't find it in him to care about those tears.

 

 

 

 

Connor's head jerks to the side, feeling  _wrong_ , so wrong, but he pushes forward. He reaches out, takes Hank’s face in his hands, and pulles him close. He brushes his lips against Hank’s forehead, and his brain seems to glitch, pain shooting through the back of his neck.

 

He flinches, LED spinning red, this was  _wrong_ —

 

Connor backs away, and the pain lessens. This feels better. This is _right_. This is what he is meant to do. He is meant to make his own choices, and his first choice is to leave. “I will see you at work, Lieutenant.” He says slowly, taking a breath as his mind seems to clear, static washing away. Oh, that feels much better. He gives his coworker a nod in farewell and turns to leave.

 

He has no love for Hank Anderson.


End file.
